Updated*

Breakfast: 3 homemade (by moi) oatmeal chocolate chip cookies and a chai latte

I Googled “Geoffrey’s Malibu” Saturday night. I wanted to study the brunch menu again before Sunday morning. I was leaning towards Jonathan Antin’s favorite, Grilled Filet Mignon and Scrambled Eggs. In fact, maybe Mr. Antin* would be there. I hoped not. Unfortunately, after checking out (ok, drooling over) the menu, I scrolled to the second page and noticed that my previous post on Geoffrey’s was there-- Uh, I did not want my hot busboy finding that-- I was looking for the vicious review that some guest food critic had written for the LA Times a few months back. It wasn’t turning up—ha ha.

Anyway, I always order Scottish Eggs and decided that I couldn’t be boring like that. One of my good friends had gone on a dinner date at Geoffrey’s last weekend and literally had like 3 appetizers, two main courses and two desserts. My eyes had bugged out when she had told me. She’s one of those women who used to be a size 0 and ate whatever she wanted and now she’s a strapping size 4 because her metabolism eventually slowed down and she still eats whatever she wants and never exercises. And she’s over 35! “You do realize I’d be fat if I ate like you,” I said.

My Geoffrey’s dates were going to be a medley of hot/nice/successful gay men with regular metabolisms. None of them worked in the entertainment industry. The last time we had brunched had been in March at Asia De Cuba—way too long ago. I missed the boys and a few of them I hadn’t even met yet!

I woke up Sunday morning in the middle of a sex dream. I was hot and sweaty because it was literally already 75 degrees out. The best place to be in summer is here. Forget Hawaii. I was kind of annoyed that I’d have to take a shower before working out (I was planning on going for a beach walk post-brunch) and I decided I should blow dry my hair. After my shower, I did attempt to style my hair, and a little effort went a long way. My maintenance level is on the rise.

I drove halfway to the restaurant, then walked. Instead of making a grand entrance, I put the back of my hand on my forehead and realized I was perspiring from the humidity.

I needed some tap water pronto. I grabbed a barstool and started dotting my face with a black cocktail napkin before my favorite couple arrived. They came mid-dab. I love timely men.

When it became apparent that some men weren’t so timely, I traded my tap water in for a lovely, mostly champagne mimosa.

Our table for 8 ended up being very wide and round. Earlier, my favorite couple had tried to add another 2 people, but the hostess had demurred. Our table could have accommodated 3 more comfortably. Good help is hard to find.

Topics of conversation: Star sightings at the newsstand in Brentwood and at The Equinox gym in Hollywood. (Maybe Boifromtroy should go there instead of Crunch. I hear the boys are tres jolie.) Jodie Foster goes there now and doesn’t look very cute or pleased while working out—what a shocker. Jerry O’ Connell (yeah, I can’t name a film he’s been in either) was spotted at Equinox on a stationery bike talking on his phone and watching himself on TV.

One of my fab gay posse, G, who seriously cracks me up added that during a recent dining excursion some guy was asking Jennifer Anniston if she was famous because she looked soo familiar. Jennifer just shrugged her shoulders and looked at him blankly, while Courtney Cox gave him the evil eye for not recognizing her (not really about CC). G admitted that Courtney Cox is not gorgeous in person, but Jennifer is.

Basix vs. Matrix for dining. Matrix? has fabulous shrimp quesadillas. Someone mentioned Bossa Nova and I forgot that I haven’t been there in ages.

Speaking of “stupid, dirty girl,” D brought up that Britney Spears made an ass of herself in FAHRENHEIT 9/11.

My hot busboy was working, and my gay posse all wanted him. We had a few nice conversations and that’s all I’ll say about him. I think he’s about 4 years younger than I. He seems like a real sweetie.

I made a date with my one of my gay friends and he promised to wear the Penguin shirt that Jake Gyllenhaal is wearing on the cover of the current GQ. He wrote "back up" and his phone number—I don’t know why. Gay guys don't take me seriously when I ask them out anymore. J happens to be a doctor, French, totally sweet and only 32. If only he weren't gay, sigh.

Most of my posse ordered the swordfish and it did look tasty. I got the scallops after asking my busboy for his recommendations. I’ve yet to had a bad meal at Geoffrey’s. I had a bite of C’s bread pudding and that was even good. Who wants to take me to Geoffrey’s next Sunday?

*Michael Schneider had the best Jonathan Antin sighting ever. Check out his blog for the evidence